


Trying To Reconcile

by Verasteine



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-29
Updated: 2008-04-28
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verasteine/pseuds/Verasteine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Ianto's relationship from Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang to To the Last Man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the fantastic acting of John Barrowman in “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang”. From the moment I saw the scene where Jack asks Ianto out, I knew I wanted to write about it.
> 
> Lyrics at the top and providing the title belong to Alison Krauss, from her song, "Forget About It".

> _'Cause after all  
> I see you sometime  
> Maybe when I can't recall  
> How you drove me crazier_

The bruises faded. And weren’t replaced by new ones. It was the first thing he noticed that would be permanent. Oh, at work, at work there were a million things like that, but they weren’t personal. Jack’s coffee mug that stayed in the cupboard because there was no point in taking it out. Jack’s office that didn’t need straightening at the end of the day. Cleaning, yes, and dusting, but no more collecting of paperwork for filing and artefacts that needed to be locked up in the archive.

But the bruises on his upper arms, from where Jack had held him down on the bed the last time they’d had sex, they faded. And weren’t replaced by other ones, somewhere else on his body, or in the same place, depending on what they’d get up to after hours.

\--

He spent every night alone. Alone in his small flat when he wasn’t working. And he found he had precious little to fill his evenings with. He ended up rereading every book he owned, watching every DVD again, until the memories behind those purchases, often memories of Lisa, telling him to buy something, watching a DVD together on the sofa, became too much.

So he went with the team the next time Gwen tried to instil some team spirit, misguided as it was, and suggested they go to the pub after work and unwind. They sat around, he and Tosh quiet, Gwen and Owen trying too hard and telling stories. Still, they went again the next week, the reason behind their forced team bonding going unsaid the whole time.

\--

It got easier. After three weeks of sleepless nights, where he would wake up expecting to be in the hub, or simply wake up expecting to have company in his bed, and then being unable to go back to sleep because he remembered _why_ he was alone, he slept through the night and woke up remembering without the empty bed having to remind him.

It was easier at work, too. They all looked less at the empty office, even if no one dared stay in there for long for fear of looking like they’d forgot. They looked less expectant every time the door opened, they caught themselves less when they talked, because they were adjusting to the team having only four members.

\--

He would never forget. A rare weekend at home, his mother asked him if he was seeing anyone, and he didn’t know what to say. Because somewhere inside, he believed Jack would be back. Somewhere, he believed it wouldn’t be forever. But if it would be, he would never forget. And he found he could think of the good times without hurting too much, and remember them fondly.

Gwen mentioned Jack without stopping and starting again. Just like that, in passing, and no one reacted too much like it was blasphemy when she used the past tense. They stopped treating Jack’s possible return as a surety that lay just around the corner.

\--

He loved Jack. That revelation, one startlingly bright spring morning, took him by surprise. The reason why he couldn’t move on, why he still had no motivation to find companionship, to go out, to look at anyone else in that way, was that he’d loved Jack, been in love with Jack, and still loved Jack. He hadn’t thought it was the case when they’d been together. Strangely, it didn’t grieve him that much that he’d never had the chance to say it. If Jack had wanted to know, he probably did already, always having understood Ianto better than Ianto understood himself.

That afternoon, at the hub, the coffee mug in the cupboard, with its blue and white stripes, suddenly did hit him hard, and he retreated into the archives to fight against the tears that he hadn’t cried until then. The team never came around to find out why the coffee was fifteen minutes late. But Tosh gave him a small, compassionate smile when she saw his red-rimmed eyes when he did finally bring her cappuccino over.

\--

He missed Jack in the moments when he laughed. He missed being able to share. Missed the trademark grin, the innuendo, the flirtatious touches. Missed him more then, than when he lay alone in his cold bed at night. He still did not resign to being alone forever, but also couldn’t stomach the idea of not waiting for Jack to come back.

The team didn’t move on, either. Gwen refused to move into Jack’s office, refused to accept UNIT’s insistence that she be made Torchwood Three’s official leader. Owen ducked out of all responsibility altogether, unable to deal with the rejection. Toshiko retreated back into herself, no matter how hard they all tried to include her.

\--

He was moving on without realising it. The new girl at the specialist coffee place hit on him, and he responded. Not by much, not enough for anything to come of it, but enough to know that he was really beginning to look forward. That scared him enough to send him scuttling back into the memories that he clung to in the moments he missed Jack too much. And found that they weren’t as strong as they used to be. For a while, that scared him even more, but then he realised it was part of the grieving process, and he would still never forget.

They laughed more at work. Joked around, had useless nights eating pizza in the hub and having silly contests that normally would have been started by Jack’s larger-than-life posturing. Now Owen began them, sliding into that role without realising it.

\--

_Hey, kids, did you miss me?_ All the things he’d believed up till that point, about moving on, about dealing, about wanting, about loving, all that, even that, got turned upside down in the space of mere seconds. And he found a whole series of emotions replacing it, anger, fear, jealousy, where had _that_ come from?, but also relief, desire, gratitude. And eagerness, too, a little too much, when pressed for an answer.

The date never happened, lost in the melee of work and aliens and threats, but Jack tried, and that earned him more points than he would ever know. And yet Ianto struggled with accepting Jack’s return, with his own emotions. One day, he would flirt, thinking they could get back on track by starting where they’d started all those months ago, the next, he would find himself get angry with Jack over the smallest thing.

\--

It all turned out to be irrelevant. Every emotion he’d had, every bit of fear and anger and jealousy. Only love mattered, and it was Jack who said it, without ever knowing why it mattered. And something inside Ianto said, _let go_. And he knew, that the how and the why and the because, and most of all, _does _he_?_, didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were here now, as always, together. What the morning would bring, let it come.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's POV...

> _Forget about it  
> If we chance to meet somewhere  
> Don't think it's cause I'm trying to reconcile_

It was over. After a year of hell, and he had lived long enough to know when something deserved that label, it was over, and it seemed suddenly anti-climactic. And then the question came, what now? It didn’t take him long to know what he wanted. Simplicity, most of all, to return to that which had been his immediate life, and also that which had provided the memories that had helped him survive. That, and the cursed energy that was keeping him alive.

So it was back to Cardiff, back to the four members of his team and a reception that was uncertain. Would they have waited? Would they want him back? The clinical part of his mind that was well-honed after living for 140 years reminded him that he was too emotional, too apprehensive at the reaction to his return, a by-product of the torture he’d undergone over the last year. Just because there were no physical scars, did not mean there were no mental ones. Only time would tell how well he’d cope.

\--

He tried to tell Ianto without giving too much away himself. It was an impulse, _I came back for you_, and he realised abruptly that he needed to include the others, because this wasn’t all about Ianto. It was, had been, about all of them.

And then, like always, because this was Torchwood, they were running around after threats and aliens, and he got no time to settle back in. Somehow, he liked it that way, less time to think, less time for the breakdown he knew was lurking somewhere in the recesses of his brain. It would happen, but preferably in private, not like earlier, on the Tardis, in front of two people who knew why, but that hadn’t made it any easier.

He found himself paired with Ianto, and got a surprisingly cold shoulder. Okay, his opening gambit about photocopiers hadn’t been the best pickup line ever, but he’d wanted something more from Ianto, a reaction that there had been _something_ between them, no matter how shallow. Because those memories had kept him going for a long time, even if Ianto would never know it. And so he had stopped and started again, asking an honest question, and still getting a standard answer. And Ianto called him _sir_, and this time it wasn’t the turn-on it had been in the past, and he felt uncomfortable with it. _You think maybe we could drop the sir now?_ he asked. No response, and then he blurted out what had been on his mind, for a while, on the Valiant, something that had been so _normal_ that he’d hidden in the fantasy of it for a few weeks before it had lost its power and he’d moved on to other things. Or maybe the Master had, he couldn’t recall from the days that had all run together. He suppressed a shudder and focused back on the here and now.

_Are you asking me out on a date?_ He flirted back on instinct, not wanting to give too much away, show how much he needed things between them to be like they had been, most of all because he’d give a lot right now for Ianto’s hands on him, Ianto’s wicked mouth, anything that would feel _normal_ and make him forget for a few blissful hours. Ianto was saying something about offices, and fetishes, and gave him the first flicker of hope that he might get back in the Welshman’s good graces. Ianto was tricky, always had been, from the first time they’d met, and even trickier since they’d got together. Still, nothing easy was ever worth having. His concentration had lapsed again, and he noted with the same clinical distance as before that he was still on the road to recovery. Ianto was sending him up to the roof, _you’re good on roofs_, separating them. He needed time. Regrettable, but Jack had to take what he could get. For now, he would give Ianto his needed space. Then he abruptly processed the whole conversation they’d just had, and stopped by the door. _Was that a yes?_

Ianto’s reply sounded like he was going against his better judgment, but also like he couldn’t resist. Jack liked that idea, and grinned all the way up to the roof.

\--

He’d tried to set up the date. If only because it would stop him wondering what would happen if they’d tried to have an actual conversation that wasn’t work related or took place in bed after sex. Neither of them divulged much about their lives; he’d always thought that Ianto’s reticence on the subject of his own private life explained the lack of prying questions into Jack’s. Still, the idea of a few uninterrupted hours spent in the company of someone he was close to, such normalcy, had got him through the first night back in the hub, and the next as well. When he’d rested enough, not slept, not _that_, not for a long time to come would he attempt sleep again, fearing the nightmares that would be added to his collection, he went back to work, catching up on three months’ worth of reports and paperwork, and that filled the time between the team leaving and coming back in the morning. But after scheduling the date three times, and the universe interrupting three times with weevil hunts, rift activity and an unfortunate run-in with a race of sleeper aliens who blew up a whole building, Ianto told him to leave it. _It’s fine, Jack, it’s not meant to be_.

For a brief two days, he wondered if that meant they were over, reduced to being colleagues and friends from now on. He even bit back a few flirty comments and innuendo when he was given perfect opening shots, and earned an odd look from Owen for it. He was reluctant to ask Ianto, not wanting to make assumptions. But Ianto still flirted, in subtle ways, only when they were alone together, and that restored Jack’s hopes.

\--

Normalcy had definitely returned, and more easily than he’d expected, he’d found himself in the role of Torchwood Three’s leader again, dealing with the day-to-day running of operations, signing paperwork, fielding calls from UNIT as if he’d never been away. And drinking endless cups of perfect coffee, a taste he hadn’t been able to forget the whole year he’d been away. The anticipated breakdown that he’d feared hadn’t come, although he’d been more tired for the first week he’d been back. Owen had tried to quiz him about his time away by phrasing it as a medical request, Jack dryly pointed out to him that since he healed cleanly, there was no point in updating his medical records. Owen had slunk off, and exchanged a look with Gwen that had told him they’d been in league together. Gwen tried to ask him herself, an hour later, coming up to his office, but he’d cut her off and changed the subject. None of the team was to know.

Then in the middle of a case, Ianto surprised him, coming up to his office late at night when the others had gone, asking him if he’d return to where he’d come from, if he could. Ah, how close to reality that question was, and Ianto would never know it. Did this visit mean what he thought it meant, what he hoped it meant? He played it coy, still not wanting to show his hand if he could avoid it. But Ianto, being Ianto, uncomplicated things by answering his playful question direct. _Yep_. I would miss you. _I… know you get lonely._ Jack looked at him, sitting on the edge of his desk, and reciprocated Ianto’s directness with some of his own, replying that he’d been out of touch with where he was from for so long, it really didn’t matter anymore. He had to, and wanted to, chart his own course now. And, he told Ianto honestly, he would never regret loving anyone he’d loved.

Ianto closed his eyes at that, just for a moment, and then looked at him with a soft, unreadable look in his blue eyes, seeming to come to a decision. Then, abruptly but blissfully, he leaned in and kissed Jack, insistently and full of conviction, and Jack reciprocated instantly, feeling like he’d finally come home.

\--

Later, when they lay together in his bed in the bunker under his office, Ianto finally asked. _Where were you?_ Not, why did you leave?, or, where did you go?. Jack felt the raw emotions, that would be raw for a while to come, push at the memories that had automatically come to the forefront of his mind at Ianto’s question. He almost parried the question, but then answered more honestly. _I can’t tell you. Not yet. Maybe some day._ And Ianto said, softly, _when you’re ready._ Understanding what had gone unspoken. Jack kissed his forehead, and smoothed back his sweat-slicked hair. Ianto shifted imperceptibly closer, his eyes sliding shut, and Jack watched him drift off to sleep. Now the universe was fully restored again.

\--

_finis._


End file.
